click, click-click
by cyanoscarlet
Summary: Pretty much everyone at the rink knew to steer clear of Lee Seunggil when they hear the ominous, hundred-a-minute clicking sounds, even from the men's locker room. They had, however, forgotten to inform Phichit Chulanont about this when he arrived just last week.


Seunggil rapidly clicks on his pen when he's stressed, irritated, or both. It was one of those cheap, worn-out, generic brands that went out of business a few years back. The black ink had all been spent long ago, but he kept the thing around anyway, if only to use as a substitute punching bag of sorts.

It was a habit he'd been advised to develop by the guidance counselor, something to release his pent-up agitation with instead of taking it out on others, like he always had. (Almost always fistcuffs. Those never ended well.) His _halmeoni_ would always frown with worry whenever she'd pick up her grandson from detention, the boy sporting bruises and black-eyes and bust lips like they were a fashion trend for kids his age.

Fortunately that had all but disappeared when Seunggil began spending more time in competitive skating. Coach Kim was a strict, disciplined taskmaster through and through, and as a result, he now always came home exhausted but fulfilled, having channeled all his energy into jumps and spins and step sequences. The good results he gets only but furthers his motivation to do better, and his grandmother couldn't be any prouder.

The pen-clicking remained, though, despite all the years Seunggil has been away from school. (Some habits are hard to break, it seemed.) Pretty much everyone at the rink knew to steer clear of him when they hear the ominous, hundred-a-minute clicking sounds, even from the men's locker room. His teammates even made sure to thoroughly orient all the competitors on this unspoken rule before the official first day of practice for the Winter Olympics.

They had, however, forgotten to inform Chulanont when _he_ arrived just last week.

The entire Korean team wore matching horrified expressions when the unsuspecting Thai skater, blunt as he was, directly asked Seunggil about it. The pen-clicking abruptly stopped, and one could almost hear a pin drop in the silence that ensued. Chulanont, to his credit, managed to keep on what passed for a straight face the whole time, ignoring the varying degrees of fear reflected in the rest of the rink's occupants.

"... Stress relief," Seunggil said simply, ending the long, awkward moment of silence. Everyone else watched the conversation progress with bated breath.

"Yeah, I can see that," Chulanont affirmed matter-of-factly, traces of a whine slowly creeping into his voice. "Why a pen, though? Poor thing's practically been abused to the moon and back!"

Seunggil bit back an annoyed grunt. He momentarily pondered whether to tell the nosy Thai kid about his not-so-stellar track record with the discipline committee back in school, but decided that it was not relevant to the current situation. Maybe another time - preferably somewhere without wandering eyes and fine-tuned ears.

"Dunno. It just helps." He clicked the pen once, then twice more, before wordlessly offering it to Chulanont. The other skater accepts the proffered item, still confused.

"I don't get where this is going, but thanks, I guess?" Chulanont scrutinizes the pen in his hands before giving it a couple of rapid clicks. "Say, didn't this kind of pen go out of style way back when we were in middle school?"

"... It was around that time, yes," Seunggil confirmed after mentally counting back the years. If his information was right, the other skater was roughly the same age as him, and probably was in the same grade that time, give or take a year.

"Knew it!" Chulanont whooped in delight, then turned away to study the pen further. "You know, I think some bookstores in Bangkok still stock these pens," he remarked, looking back up at Seunggil excitedly. "Do you want some?"

The Korean skater was taken aback, his leg almost hitting the rink barrier. "Chulanont, I-"

"Great! I'll send them over as soon as I get back home," Chulanont cut him off, handing him back the pen. Seunggil could see Katsuki waving at them from the periphery of his vision. "Consider it a gift!"

"T-Thanks," he mumbled inaudibly, his voice having left him temporarily. How he'd just managed to engage in an inane conversation at all, let alone with Chulanont, of all people, baffled him to no end. Before long, he was left alone once more, barely registering the weight of the old, worn pen in his hand.

Coach Kim approached him a moment later. "Seunggil, Chulanont from Thailand just came to me, asking for your home address. What happened?"

"He's sending something over," Seunggil replied tersely. The older woman frowned questioningly at the vague answer, to which he added, "A set of pens. Probably after three weeks."

"Still, that was unexpected," he muttered under his breath, hiding the amused smirk that began to form on his lips.

"What was that?" Coach Kim inquired sharply.

"Nothing," Seunggil brushed off the question, handing over the pen to her instead and starting to take off his blade guards.

His coach, though clearly not satisfied with the response he'd given, chose not to comment further, instead patting him on the back and motioning him to get on the ice. Whatever it was could wait; he had a competition to win.


End file.
